What you should have known
by B. Murakawa
Summary: Sarah is getting married. JackxSarah, DavidxSarah


warning: incest, sap  
disclaimer: i do not own the newsies. i have the feeling that walt disney would roll in his grave if he knew what i was doing to this film...  
author's note: major sap alert. and I do mean major. this is one of those random things...just playing around with characterization and writing style and that sort of thing. but be warned that the major couples in here are jack/sarah and gasp david/sarah. yup, that's incest, people. so if that ain't your cup of sentimental tea...well, you get the idea.

**What you should have known**

_Love is an ideal thing, marriage a real thing; a confusion of the real with the ideal never goes unpunished._  
--Goethe

It's so wrong to look at you like this. He thinks you know what he means, because you look at him the same way...at least, that's the impression he gets, sometimes, when your eyes go really wide and you turn away, blushing a little. He loves it when you blush.

He loves it even more when you cry. Your eyes glimmer and sparkle, breaking into a thousand shades of blue, like stained-glass windows in a cathedral, and the tears slip down your pale cheeks in a flood of emotion. Thin, pretty fingers cover your working mouth, muffling the soft moans that escape. David feels strong, then, and he holds you and rocks you and kisses your hair.

A little thing can set you off, he's discovered. In an emergency, you're calm and collected, full of common sense and good advice. You proved that during the strike. But if you run out of thread, or spoil dinner, you retreat into your room and hide your frustration from your family, afraid to be seen as weak, selfish--your mother never cries, your father, look at him, he's killing himself for you, but he's always got a tired smile on his face.

"It all adds up," you sob, leaning into his chest and breathing in the scent of him--soap and fabric and sweat and ink. "Just a run of bad luck or something."

His breath is hot by your ear, steady and slowly you calm down and then it's all right again. He always does that: fixes your problems simply by being there.

You don't know that he dreams of you. Long dark hair free from the stiff curls you force it into every morning, falling over your naked breasts. The shadows that give you depth and make you real, real enough to touch. Like this, you crawl into his arms and kiss him hesitantly, lips moist, plump. Very soft, your body sprawled next to his, open and inviting. He could live in his dreams forever with you, no complications and no one else to condemn the two of you.

Your name is on his lips when his eyes shoot open, staring into the blank darkness of his bedroom. Hours until dawn, but he can never get to sleep after that.

He hates Jack Kelly in ways he can't explain. Because Jack can have you and he never can. Jack is the man you should love, the man who would give you the moon if you asked for it. Jack doesn't understand you.

Sitting across the room, you might as well be a million miles away, some exotic creature from China or India. The lingering heat of David's hand on your arm, blue eyes lighter than your own, startling how much he can say with those eyes. He's closer to you than the beat of your heart, that boy on the shore of your life, making sure the waters don't go over your head.

He wants you so badly, and he's afraid of the power you have over him. He's afraid he'll lose control, grab you and pull you into the hell he lives in day after day. Argues with himself all of the time.

Jack tells you he's got a repectable job now, and he can buy you a house and dresses and someday...he can barely contain himself. He asks you to marry him, and you say, "Wait until spring." You've always dreamed of a May wedding, with flowers and a beautiful gown--you work twice as hard to earn the money for the fabric, and with help from your father and mother, you finally manage to make that gown a reality.

You find David one afternoon in your room, leaning against the wall, hands in pockets. He's looking at something outside your window, and you're just still for a moment, watching him. The hard line of his jaw, and his thick brows over those amazing blue eyes, expression gentle and somewhat reflective.

He notices you and smiles, motioning for you to join him. You immediately fall into his loose embrace, sighing a little. There's nothing outside of real interest: a few kids playing a game and a woman hurrying past. Something is bothering him. But you don't ask, because you're sure he'll tell you if he wants you to know.

"Sarah," he says your name like it could protect him from whatever demons are haunting him. You whisper his, those two simple syllables, unsure of what else to do. You don't have the words.

"Sarah, if he ever..." He pauses, and you can guess where this is going. You shake your head and look away. "If he ever makes you cry. If he...you'll tell me. You'll come to me, right?"

"You know him. He wouldn't do that," you protest, softly. "Jack is...he's a kind person, underneath it all."

"Yeah, yeah, I know that. But. You have to promise--" His voice breaks, and you tighten your hold on him. "Promise me, Sarah."

"Anything," you say, shocked to find yourself weeping. Why the tears? Why do you feel so horribly sad?

"Okay," but he doesn't let go, and he's shaking, and so are you. A thrill travels from the back of your neck to your arms to your belly and to that secret place in between your legs; you've never felt quite like this before, even when Jack kissed you for the first time, surrounded by jumping, laughing boys of every physical and mental description. Alone with David, now. And frightened, wanting to back away but unable to.

Later you won't be sure which of you it was that moved first, but somehow your hand is stroking the juncture of neck and jaw, feeling the smooth motion there as he kisses you with the tenderness he's always shown you, whenever you weren't able to keep a smile on your face. Wrapped up in him so deeply you become a part of him, and he of you--every minute of every day you've spent with him, years and years of waking to his familiar voice and those blue, blue eyes, slanted almost closed and watching you, loving you.

"Davey--" You gasp and his lips press more firmly to yours, unwilling to stop or think or let anything tear this from him. His mouth trails wetly down your throat, only to hesitate over your staggering pulse--blood singing beneath the white flesh.

Jerk away from him at the sound of your mother's voice, calling you to come try on your dress again, please, just to make a few minor adjustments. His eyes, burning holes into your soul, never leave you and the air outside the room seems impossibly cold.

You can't look your mother--David's mother--in the face, and when she asks you if you're okay, you reply with a hesitant yes--yes, of course you're okay, this is the happiest day of your life, and tomorrow will be even better. Tomorrow you are going to marry Jack Kelly and begin a new life.

David hates himself and he hates Jack even more; when he leaves the tenement, his demeanor is like the calm before a storm. 

You don't see him the rest of the day, and your parents worry about him. Nineteen and out on those streets, doing God knows what, maybe drinking, gambling, fighting. David has always been so responsible, what's gotten into him? Les waves off their concern. He'll be back by morning, let the guy alone, huh?

You fall asleep by your bedroom window.

You're so busy the next day, getting to the small church on time--a poor-man's church converted from an old printing shop. You don't see Jack until that afternoon as you walk down the bare aisle, people from your neighborhood on either side, your gown rustling over the wooden floorboards. And Jack gives you that careless grin of his, dressed as he is in his nicest suit, one elbow patched and his shoes a little scuffed.

It's after the ceremony, when Jack is shaking hands and you are smiling at guests, your father standing at your side and your mother weeping behind you, that you notice David. He's in the back of the church, hovering by the door like an old-world spirit.

Feverish all of a sudden, you wonder if this is perhaps the biggest mistake you've ever made, and then it's okay, because David is smiling at you, and you know everything will somehow turn out all right.

He doesn't wait around to watch all proof of you disappear from the Jacobs' tenement. Gets another job in addition to the low-paying one he already has and boards with a small family a couple of blocks away from you; you pass him everyday in the street, walk with him and let your hand brush against his, but at the end of the day, he knows that he can't stay here. Can't stand being so deliriously close to you.

You think of that kiss, every once in a while, lying next to an obliviously sleeping Jack. You think of it and shiver and yearn and drown in your guilt. Imagine David in his tiny rented room, eating meals with people he barely knows, and it nearly kills you. 

One day he's gone. Just like that, as if he'd never been there at all. You ask around, but no one has seen him. And it's like your heart has been torn out and beaten to a bloody pulp with a hammer. You cry and Jack gets uncomfortable because he never knows what to do when you cry.

Sometimes you swear you catch sight of David, on the outskirts of a crowd or browsing shelves in a bookstore or buying something from a fruit vendor. But you're always wrong--the chin is too sharp, the frame too large, the eyes too dark to be David's. Sometimes you visit your parents and pause by the door to your old bedroom and stare out the window at nothing in particular.

With every breath in your lungs and every beat of your heart you believe that if Jack ever hurts you, David will be there, waiting right outside your front door, open arms and furious eyes and then. Then you can tell him what you should have said to begin with. What you should have known all along.


End file.
